


Teeth

by WandersUnderStarlight



Series: What Makes A Monster [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 14:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandersUnderStarlight/pseuds/WandersUnderStarlight
Summary: Smokescreen sets the record straight.





	Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> One more tiny Halloween treat for you. 
> 
> This is what Ricochet is "getting up to" during Jazz's trip to the witches' shop.

“...ya an’ Prowl ain’t gonna, like, bite me an’ Jazz an’ turn us into beastformers are ya?”

They were in Ricochet’s room laying side-by-side on his berth so they could see his vid screen. Jazz had gone out on a date with Prowl and Smokescreen had suggested their own little stay-in date while they had the place to themselves. They had started with a holo-vid on one of the networks, which had become a snuggle session. Then the previous holo-vid had ended and another, older one had come on. 

One about a rampaging beastformer. 

Ricochet had asked if Smokescreen wanted to turn it off, but the blue and red mech had just shrugged, unconcerned; even snickering now and then at a particularly corny scene. 

Smokescreen chuckled from where he was lounging beside the Polyhexian. “You can’t actually be ‘turned’ into a beastformer. It’s hereditary, though beastformers always breed true even when we’re with normal cybertronians. Somewhere in history, somebot got our lore mixed up with vampires.”

“Ah…”

Smokescreen grinned. A too-wide show of teeth. His optics bled gold as he rolled himself over to pin Ricochet to the berth.

“Is that a little bit of disappointment I hear, hmm? You want to run wild under the moons with me? You still can, you know, just not on four legs.”

Embarrassed, Ricochet pushed at the bulk of the playful turbowolf. “Hey, get off!”

Smokescreen let himself be shoved, but grabbed onto the Polyhexian’s plating and used the momentum to roll both of them so that Ricochet suddenly found himself straddling the supine form of the other.

“Unless you believe the legend.” Smokescreen purr-growled, running clawed digits lightly up and down the Polyhexian’s sides. 

“Uh, legend?” Ricochet waited for his processor to stop spinning from the sudden change of position.

“Mmhmm. The legend goes that a normal cybertronian can be turned into a beastformer if they share sparks with their other-worldly lover in each of their lover’s forms, once per alignment. Then they will take the beastform of their lover.”

Alignment was the time when both of Cybertron’s moons were full at the same time. It only happened every quarter vorn. But Ricochet was caught on the thought of how-in-Primus-name could you share sparks while in vehicle alt form? Was it even possible?

“You’d make a handsome turbo-wolf, but I like you as you are.” Smokescreen said, derailing Ricochet’s train of thought. “You smell _just_ right.”

Oh, the smug suggestiveness was just oozing off his plating.

“Stop being weird.” Ricochet grumbled, still flustered.

Smokescreen sat up, shifting them both in a casual display of strength. “You like it,” he declared, and impishly set his (unshifted) denta around a cable on Ricochet’s neck.

The Polyhexian froze, vision whiting out as pleasure shot from his neck directly into his interface housing. A dazed sort of fog took over his processor.

The beastformer froze too, inhaling a deep vent through both his olfactory and his mouth. His next exhale was laced with a possessive growl that vibrated through Ricochet’s throat. The denta set against his vulnerable cables changed from a flat pressure to prickles. A shudder worked its way down Ricochet’s backstrut.

The growl changed in pitch, inundating his audial horns with waves of pleasurable vibrations. Claws lightly mapped out a purposeful path over plating and wires. The beastformer moved them again (and Ricochet _let_ himself be moved) so that Ricochet was under his looming frame. He finally let go of the Polyhexian’s neck cables, licking the spot with his glossa. 

“Smokey?” Ricochet was surprised by the huskiness of his own voice.

“You... smell... right.” Smokescreen said again between licks, sounding distracted. “Smell like… mine.”

The visored mech swallowed, heat racing along his circuits. Oh it was so easy to get swept up along with his rising charge. He shakily raised a servo and started petting Smokescreen’s helm, which the beastformer enjoyed if the pleased rumble was anything to go by.

He finally stopped licking and locked those alluring gold optics with Ricochet’s visor. “I want you. Can I have you?”

Ricochet really hoped Jazz wasn’t on his way home right now.

“...Yeah. Ya can ‘ave me.”


End file.
